Mercenaries at Heart
by The Muses of Mars
Summary: A slice-of-life peek at Aranea Highwind's life outside of Imperial dirty work: Aranea comes home to the woman she loves, having done things she isn't proud of—just another day under the cracking whip of the Empire. All the soap in the world can't wash her sins away, but at least a shower will rinse the blood from her hands…until the next time. (Lead-in to Episode Prompto.)


The apartment was dark and silent when Aranea Highwind finally returned "home" after another long day at work. It was funny how a small room in the soldiers' barracks really did feel like home, but it wasn't the moth-eaten welcome mat, the mini-fridge stocked with cold beer, the rickety air conditioner filling the window space, or even the creaking rack for a bed that made it home: it was Jessie.

Aranea's lover was already asleep, but she had left the lamp on for her and turned down the covers on Aranea's side of the bed in an open invitation. The sheet was just barely pulled up over the soft curve of her hip, her bare back to the door and her fiery red hair splayed wildly over her pillow.

Aranea remained next to the door as she stripped off her armor as quietly as she could manage, too tired to properly dress it on its mannequin and unwilling to risk waking Jessie to do so. She padded across the floor in nothing but her underwear and disappeared into the small bathroom they shared with the next room over, locking its two doors before she finished undressing. She climbed into the shower stall, wincing at the piercing shriek of the rusted knob as she turned the cold water on at full blast. She'd worked hard today, and done things she wasn't proud of—just another day under the cracking whip of the Empire. All the soap in the world couldn't wash her sins away, but at least it would rinse the blood from her hands…until the next time.

After her shower, Aranea stepped into a clean pair of panties and tugged an oversized gray T-shirt over her head, combing her fast-drying hair as she made her way over to the bed. All the while, she couldn't help admiring her girlfriend. Jessie's long porcelain torso was spattered with an occasional mole, the only adornments that marred her creamy skin. Aranea laid her brush on the nightstand at the base of the lamp as she climbed onto the mattress, rubbing an itching, healing cut on her left forearm self-consciously. Jessie, whose work was primarily concerned with logistics, had no war wounds or battle scars. But if they kept at the rate they were going, like that suicide mission to Altissia, that could change.

She didn't want to think about that. Better to not think at all.

Aranea turned off the lamp and sank down onto the bed with a heavy sigh. The Empire had slaughtered people like cattle before, but nothing to date had been like the carnage she'd just witnessed and been party to. As exhausted as she felt, she knew her sleep would not be restful tonight.

The other woman in the bed suddenly shifted, slowly turning to face her.

"Sorry," Aranea whispered, "I was trying to be quiet."

"Your brooding must have woken me," Jessie murmured, sleep making her voice thick. She crawled closer, draping an arm across Aranea's waist. "I take it the mission was a bloody success. Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." Aranea's fingers latched onto her girlfriend's arm and danced like fingers across piano keys, agitated.

Jessie sighed heavily. "We've been having too many nights like this lately."

"Nights like what?"

"Nights apart." Jessie bunched up the fabric of Aranea's T-shirt in her fist, opening her warm amber eyes to gaze up at her lover. "Nights when you come home hating yourself."

"I don't hate myself," Aranea argued gently, stroking Jessie's smooth arm. "If I did, I'd just give up and die like everyone who ate a bullet for breakfast in Altissia today. Poor bastards."

"So it came to that…"

Aranea was silent for a while. She had seen things today she would never forget, things that would change the tone of this war. There was no hope now. A darkness was coming.

She blurted out, "The princess is dead." Jessie went very still in her embrace. "We do a lot of things that don't make sense, but today…I really don't know."

"If you're this unhappy," Jessie said slowly, "we should leave."

Aranea rolled over, turning her back to Jessie. "We can't do that." She beat the military-issue pillow under her head, partly to fluff it and partly to vent her frustration at the situation.

"Why not?" Jessie reached out and shook Aranea's shoulder to make sure she was still awake and listening.

Aranea groaned. "Cause we need paychecks?"

"We were mercenaries once. We could be again."

Aranea considered. She turned her head to look at Jessie over her shoulder. "Are you serious?"

"It's not the worst idea."

"No. It's not."

"Of course…we couldn't just walk away without making a grand exit…"

Aranea could sense Jessie's wheels turning. "What are you suggesting?"

Jessie shrugged her shoulder nonchalantly and smirked. "That we go out with a bang."

Now Aranea rolled back over to face her again. "…What you're talking about isn't just desertion; it's treason."

Jessie's eyes danced. "Exciting, isn't it?"

"I love it when you talk dirty." Aranea pulled her lover closer until their mouths touched, sealing the deal with a traitors' kiss.


End file.
